Whimpered and glazed irony,
A tape deck sits untouched, covered in dust,
and memories fade out.
Just as I pick the needle up off another record.
Consolidating, through every track and I am unbound in whatever refuge I am seeking.
I’m just going to keep them all anyways.
This reminds me of me, of you, of them, of that.
I made the realization I’ve been listening to the same music for twenty years.
Enough for me to say that that passion I felt on hearing of any tune, locked its firm grasp into my very heart, took a seat, and never left.
Just grew fonder.
petrichor - archive 